


Advent 2018: Holiday Décor

by MiladyPheonix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV Greg, POV John Watson, POV Mrs. Hudson, POV Mycroft Holmes, POV Sherlock Holmes, Parentlock, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-09-05 03:36:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 14,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16802866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyPheonix/pseuds/MiladyPheonix
Summary: John and Sherlock decorate for the holidays.





	1. Holiday Décor

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of my Advent Ficlet Challenge. I will be updating a bit more slowly on AO3 than on Tumblr as AO3 will get a bit more content.   
> Each ficlet will be added as a new chapter and tags updated as they're added. A few stories will share plot threads, which I will link at the relevant points but others will be stand alone.

“It's only September Jawn!”

The sudden exclamation startled John but he just smiled. “It's just a few decorations they can’t hurt you Love"

“They're an affront to logic it hurts everyone. How long do they hope to capitalise on the commercialisation of religion? It’s twelve days of Christmas John, not twelve weeks!” Sherlock's pace quickened as if he could escape the abominable sight before him.

“Okay, okay ‘Lock. We'll just decorate for the twelve days" John squeezed Sherlock’s arm where it threaded around his elbow.

“But Mrs Hudson starts her festive baking when we decorate" Sherlock observed, he sounded wistful and a little perplexed it was a bit out of character, the sudden wreaths and red ribbons must have disturbed him so John took pity on him.

“Twenty four days of Christmas then Love, an Advent of decorations” John grinned as Sherlock settled into stride with him again. 

December first was a bright crisp Saturday and the smell of eggs and bacon pulled John from his pillow before he realised it was 0700. “John! Good morning!" “You’re sounding cheerful Lovely" John accepted a cup of tea.

“It's December first John and we have some shopping to do!” Sherlock on a mission was a thing to behold, he clearly had a plan and strode determinedly through London while John marched along grinning behind him, getting loaded down with bags and bags of things. It was only when a Boney M CD joined the Michael Bublé one already in the bag that John called a halt for lunch. 

“What else could we possibly need?!” He asked over steaming plates of pasta, Sherlock had insisted they carbo-load.

“Lights John, lights and food. Eat quickly now as I've ordered a taxi to drop off this load at home.

Mrs Hudson opened her front door as John and Sherlock wrestled bags through the street door. “Oh, is it that time already boys. I’ll need to shop" “ Don't bother Mrs Hudson, John and I have it covered" “Off out" John grinned to her, he didn’t mind staying out all day if it meant she didn’t have to brave the lines herself. 

Michael Bublé crooned all through 221 Baker street as parcels were unpacked upstairs and Mrs Hudson measured ingredients in 221A. “These are last year’s songs John but I’ve purchased the latest release" Sherlock looked like an offended Elf all tangled up in the greenery.

“His daughter is very sick… How can you know that but still confuse Justin Beiber and Rihana.” John shook his head.

“Michael Bublé is traditional for Christmas preparations, once we start decorating properly we'll have to switch to Boney M of course" “Of course" John stared disbelieving at his militant Christmas Sherlock.

The food had all been delivered to Mrs Hudson who had eventually taken pity on their constant calling from the shops and dictated a list to John. 

Boughs of holly decorated the halls and the tree glittered with tinsel. Sherlock had indeed stopped the CD mid-track to change it so John bopped gently to himself as he steadied the ladder, the lights, and his Sherlock, he had not allowed any rest since they’d arrived home. The last strand of lights was just settled about the windows when Mrs Hudson came in. 

She cooed over how beautiful it all looked and a stunned looking Greg Lestrade halted in the doorway behind her. “John?!” John shook his head and jerked a thumb at Sherlock.

“Ah Graham welcome. Yes it’s all me, tell a soul and they will never find your body. Mrs Hudson has made a delicious dinner, join us and you can try and entice me with your little thief, this Grinch character. “I won’t ask" Greg said waving a hand around the festive flat "and I won’t refuse, Mrs Hudson thank you!” 


	2. Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A star for the Christmas tree, but while John browses Sherlock sees that he doesn't need a shop.   
> Short and sweet because Sherlock got to to the point for a change.

Sherlock sighed as he took in the shop for their last task. They needed a star for the top of the tree, but he had just deduced that they did not need one because John was strolling away from him, towards the display with crystal snowflakes sparkling in his gold and silver hair.

Sherlock nearly called a halt to the shopping right then and there, it was obvious that he had a star already, John shone. 

He twinkled merrily at the retail staff who seemed to grow merrier in return and John glowed from walking around London keeping pace with longer longs, Sherlock congratulated himself that he was keeping his star healthy and clearly John lit up Sherlock’s life! His conductor of light and his guiding star he was so glad to have his very own John Watson. 

Suddenly unable to stay away Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pulled the smaller man against his chest. “Can we put you on top of the tree rather My Star” John went still in his arms as Sherlock nuzzled into his hair “You’re radiant my John, everyone, everything is brighter when you're near" Sherlock whispered in his ear before letting go. John swayed backwards slightly as Sherlock meandered across the store to enjoy watching his star shine. 


	3. You Better Watch Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MultiPOV. Snowball fight. Johnlock. Mystrade

Martha Hudson stood at the front window of 221B. She had popped up to leave tea for the boys and was watching them engage in a vicious looking snowball war with the team from the Met, Greg had invited the Boys to join his team and she suspected it was mostly a way for the new recruits to meet Sherlock without the tension he caused at crime scenes. She was glad they were having a good time as she always worried about the trouble they attracted while on their cases. 

They'd actually asked for tea for a change and she didn’t mind it just this once. They were roaming around the snow like school boys so the hot tea would be good for them. Sherlock had been anxious all day about the new recruits, he'd settled down once John had arrived from work but they’d better watch out if they tracked snow about the place, she was their landlady not their house keeper. 

“You better watch out!” John yelled as a suspiciously well calculated snowball whizzed towards Sherlock’s hiding place. He and John were on a team with Dimmock, Donovan, and a few recruits they didn’t know. Greg had most of the new recruits and Anderson so it made so sense for them to be routing John and Sherlock to thoroughly when John’s military tactics and Sherlock’s genius should have made for an entertaining victory. It all became clear when a familiar figure darted passed with unfamiliar vigour.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock was outraged at seeing big brother in the game. The figure froze and a very tactical looking white suit blended into the snow. “How’d you wind up here?” Sherlock stepped into his brother's space as Mycroft’s snow flushed cheeks blushed deeper. 

“Partners are allowed to join" Mycroft stated casually just before a well aimed snowball from Donovan’s position exploded on his chest. The game continued after a strategy meeting so Sherlock could recalibrate for Mycroft’s involvement and John could have some tea but eventually loss of light and classic Holmesian competitiveness called it to a draw or at least a stalemate. 

Greg watched the brothers glare and posture at each other with a grin. He hadn't smiled this much since his mad Uni days and Mycroft had been such a nutter with his snow suit and strategies. He really did understand his little brother, it was quite scary. He held the door for Mycroft to get in and caught Sherlock’s eye. The younger man’s face changed as he observed and suddenly there was an almost dark look Greg had never seen before. 

“You better watch out” Mycroft’s voice was contemplative. “That look is possibly the closest Sherlock can get to the typical break his heart and I’ll break your legs threat favoured by siblings everywhere”. “Did you give John that look then?” Greg asked but Mycroft just have him a chilling little smile. “I'd better behave myself then" Greg marvelled at how John handled the Holmes brothers, while still being in the same country! He assumed the military training helped.

“I should hope not.” Was Mycroft’s quiet response. 


	4. Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established Johnlock, Rosie, Mycroft, a touch of domesticity.

John was exasperated, true it’s not an uncommon feeling when one shares a life and living space with Sherlock Holmes but the madman was refusing to build a snowman with their daughter on a perfectly lovely Sunday morning! “Please ‘Lockie” He was washing dishes as Sherlock dried and packed. “You’ll do a much better job than me and I’ll be able to unpack the decorations in peace”

“No" Sherlock repeated letting the ‘Lockie slide but rolled his eyes as John was not observing. He set down some plates, grabbed his phone off the table and turned it around showing John the text he had sent half an hour ago when this had all started. 

John’s eyes widened and his ears reddened then the street door opened, shut, and a rhythm of three percussions up the stairs announced the arrival of...

_MH_   
_Your niece desires a snowman and while my skills are adequate to the task I acknowledge your own to be superlative in this regard. Kindly oblige at 221 Baker street at your soonest convenience. There may be cake._   
_SH_

Mycroft smirked at John’s incredulous look and turned to the upper stairs to call Rosamund as Sherlock spoke quietly. “Mycroft used to build snowmen for me when he came home from Uni; chemical formula, historical figures, mythical creatures, he's really quite creative underneath all that well... Mycroftness”

“Uncle Myc!” Rosie raced down the stairs to a smug looking Mycroft Holmes who scooped her into his arms before retrieving her snow gear and departing without another word. 

John got the decorations from Mrs Hudson and Sherlock made his way to a patisserie he knew his brother favoured as he had had two branded napkins in his pocket from the place over the last month. He pick pocketed Mycroft too when he was annoying so the napkins could only have been there as a hint. Lestrade caught him at it sometimes but John never seemed to notice or simply didn’t care that Sherlock was in his pockets half the time. 

With everything set up they could only wait and John couldn’t stop himself. “So, snowmen and you said something nice about your brother" His question was met with a huffy sigh that made him grin. “Yes. It was a good childhood memory and a chance for them to bond, Mycroft doesn’t see much of our Rose.” Sherlock studied his tea. 

“That's lovely of you Sherlock, I’m sure they’ll have fun" John smiled at the put-upon pretence on his partner's face. He might seem like doing something nice for his brother was a coincidence or a chore but the universe was rarely so lazy and the small proud smile beneath that familiar pout told the whole story. 


	5. Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock POV, some inner monologue and an argument with Mycroft because arguing with family is what Christmas is all about.

The Santa issue had been resolved in 221B when a very serious seven year old Rosie had stated she knew Santa wasn’t real but would she still get presents? Sherlock had fallen silent but John had taken this announcement in stride and promised she would still get gifts before glancing at Sherlock. He shook his head as he hadn't said anything to Rosie, they had agreed to let John handle issues of faith and beliefs unless in a purely academic query then the Watsons bundled up to go to church with Mrs Hudson who had smiled at Rosie's repeated proclamation and congratulated her on her maturity.

Sherlock pondered belief and the power of faith while he wrapped gifts for Christmas stockings, swiping a finger over his phone when it buzzed.

_SH_   
_Not off to church with the family Sherlock? How does your good John handle living with a godless heathen over these holy days_   
_MH_

Sherlock could read the smirk on his brother’s face and tapped out a response while he placed one of John’s favourite gourmet chocolates on the cheery red paper. 

_MH_   
_My Good John hardly needs to handle our differences in beliefs, my lack of faith has never been a cause of contention, it’s called Respect Mycroft. I understand you may be unfamiliar with the word, you prefer to lead your underlings through manipulation or intimidation and I choose to respect that._   
_SH_

There was no reply so having won the argument Sherlock acknowledged to himself that while he did not believe in a god or in religion in general what he did believe in, he'd decided, was compassion, forbearance, tolerance, steadfastness, and love. 

He realised that he could believe in all of these intangible concepts because he had the measure of them already in Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, Rosie and John. He could believe in these friends, in this family that he had built from the people he had found through the work and sheer dumb luck. He could believe in this family who had believed in him even when he hadn’t been able to do it for himself. 


	6. Fireplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JohnPOV, HurtJohn, Sherlock playing, good childhood memory, good medication.

John sat in the warmth of the fireplace as Sherlock played a tranquil post case serenade and empty take away containers rested on the side table. Their usual post case celebratory dinner had been substituted with take aways as John had been injured in a bit of a scuffle with the suspect and was in no condition to sit in a restaurant chair after sustaining four bruised ribs, he was in no condition for anything actually.

The pain killers from the A&E were fuzzing his brain wonderfully and the fire glowed giving the entire evening a surreal quality. It was like a beautiful dream of winter in his childhood when evenings were spent in front of the fire before bed, with everyone just winding down and the radio playing softly in the background, except Sherlock played, not a radio, radios were boring and John grinned as he sounded like his Sherlock. Also, also he wasn’t warming up before bed in his small childhood room, he hadn’t even been in that house for decades, he wondered it if was still standing as he looked around to make sure that 221 Baker street still stood, it did. 

John was in 221B contented watching a dark angel make strings and wood sing lovely songs to him, Sherlock was smiling at him. His dark angel, Sherlock really was beautiful and he wanted to tell him but couldn’t find the words so he wondered through the haze in his brain how it was possible that in all of his forty something years this stunning enigma was happy to simply be his. 


	7. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Hudson POV, packing up after the Christmas party she remembers her previous Christmas and how Sherlock and John came to join her at 221 Baker street.

Martha Hudson listened to her boys chat as they cleaned up after their Christmas drinkies. It had been a lovely evening and sweet John had been careful to hand her cups of tea after a bit too much wine. She was packing dishes to be washed the next day when memories of her previous Christmas pricked her eyes.   


It had been a quiet festive season, even with the crowds in the street making a racket, or maybe their racket had just made her feel more lonesome. Mrs Turner had been away visiting her own family last year so there would be no trip to church, they’d made a day of the Easter service with a bit of a breakfast and one of the married one’s kindly ferrying them around but that Christmas 221 Baker street had been so empty and quiet that she’d had her soother early and gone to bed by nine o'clock... Oh she had met Sherlock Holmes long before then but he had been struggling with the drugs and she had been in no position to help the poor dear beyond tea and the occasional meal.   


Martha had not been thinking of that lonely Christmas when she had arranged the special deal with Sherlock, he’d shown up directly from the rehab and asked about the flat. He could have the flat to rent properly, she knew that he had broken in and squatted at times but she could never bring herself to call him on it as he would just use the shower, and the couch to sleep. She knew he had only done so when he was off the drugs as he was quite incapable of house breaking when he was high, she grinned at the memory, so yes he could have the flat but he needed a flat mate.   


She had been very firm about this even when his sweet face had fallen. She knew he struggled socially but she could not allow some drug buddy of his to lead him astray again, he was to find a proper gentleman flat mate. She had hoped the company would help him and he had done so beautifully. John Watson was a proper gentleman, only her dear mad boy would find an officer and a doctor all in one and bring him to her door for approval. He'd shown up with John like he’d won him, like the man had been awarded to him, he’d been glowing at his achievement. She’d felt a bit like his mum at prize giving but she’d been so proud and relieved.   


Now 221 Baker street was always full of life with the boys dashing about and Greg popping in with cases, lovely Molly would come to visit, sometimes especially to have tea with her and Martha could even tolerate that reptile older brother if he would behave himself and be very quiet. 

There would be no more quiet seasons of any sort for Martha Hudson and she did not mind at all.   



	8. Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock practices almost every night unless they are on a case but music can tell a story if you listen.

John felt his shoulders tighten as he did the grocery shopping but it wasn’t the crowds or even the screaming children that ratchetted his shoulders towards his ears, it was the music that made him hunch defensively. The same insipid Christmas music committed auditory assault for months every year.

Living with Sherlock Holmes had clearly turned him into a bit of a snob but how could this Christmas pop compete with Sherlock and the Stradivarius in the evenings. John had even started buying classics cds just to keep up with the beautiful music he heard all the time but he could never find his favourite piece. A sweet melancholy tune, with a joyful second movement but John loved the last movement most, it was triumphant as fortissimo strings sang out, hopeful and jubilant but no matter how much he searched, who he asked and however many people he hummed it to no one had been able to help him, except one girl who had suggested he ask his musician.

John settled down after dinner and considered the piece. It must have taken some time to learn as Sherlock had been playing it for ages, more and more of it as he had learned so when Sherlock picked up the Strad for an evening recital John found his voice “Who composed that piece, the one you learned over this year, I like it" John hummed the quiet opening as clarification when Sherlock stilled and stared at him.

Sherlock smiled softly “You won’t know him, contemporary and still a bit amateur. His name is William.” Then he met John’s blue eyes and started to play. He played the gentle voice he had heard in Bart's and the quiet strength of the exhausted soldier who still stood so straight. He played a nervous conversation in a small Italian restaurant and then squaring his shoulders further he played flight; over roof tops, across moors, and up endless stairs, down dark streets away from perplexed police officers, towards a suspect, to prove a point, or just because they could. He played the thrill of the chases they had had and the satisfaction of cases they had solved. He played the laughter he now shared with the friend he had found.

Lifting his bow to halt the music Sherlock could only stare his apology for the fall before he played on in triumph, he had returned, John was safe, everyone was saved because Sherlock had won.

John’s eyes filled as he realised the truth in the music that he had heard for months, for months he had heard but not listened, he had seen but not observed.

Sherlock played their shared relief as Mary, the very last spider’s thread had been lead away, finally leaving them both in peace. He saw John smile and nod through tears as he played the joy of John's return and the hope that he was forgiven, that John would stay. He played for the joy of simply being home with John and the hope that he would never be so alone as he was during those two years or before he found him.

Sherlock moved slowly into the centre of the room, centre stage, playing their story and laying his heart out like a footlight for their song as it drew to the sweet conclusion of their domesticity with the delicacy of their paused anticipation.

“William" John rose to join Sherlock centre stage in their unfolding drama. “William Sherlock" “Scott Holmes" Sherlock finished with a small grin, he remembered tracking down John’s birth certificate but would have told John the whole of it whenever he’d asked. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, your parents didn’t make it easy did they” John carefully relieved Sherlock of the delicate instrument and embraced his friend who shook in his arms, he tighten his grasp thinking emotion had overcome the usually contained man but he was laughing as he now clung to John’s frame.

“Byron!” He gasped out between bouts of hilarity, he'd really gotten off easily. “Byron Mycroft Milton Holmes, he’s used Mycroft since Uni and just wont answer to anything else. He had it legally changed when he started working, I think even his birth certificate was amended. He won’t even tell Mummy because he was named for her father, it’s the only thing I have on him!"

John’s eyes bulged as he tried to restrain his laughter “Oh it’s Christmas!” John crowed before he burst into delighted giggles. “Do you think he’ll like it embroidered on a throw pillow or something. We could ask Mrs Hudson, I’m sure she'd be delighted.”


	9. Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John does not know what to get the man with everything. Sherlock knows what he wants. Holmes parents, Mrs Hudson, kinda sequel to Fireplace.

“Jawn! Jaaawn!” Sherlock’s voice roused John from his book and he dashed to the kitchen. “What is it? Are you ok? Are you hurt?” “No. You have been carrying on about how you don’t know what to get me for Christmas and I know what I want. Hat and cost, we're off to Bart’s!” Sherlock rose abruptly before John slide between him and the door

“Barts! You have enough body parts Sherlock. You’ve still got those feet in the freezer too and I can give you another blood sample at home anytime you need one." John was puzzled as he had been winding down for the evening and had assumed Sherlock was just working on his blog post about the snow's affect on evidence hence the frozen feet.

He piled into the taxi behind his mad man, who had overridden his arguments by practically dressing John himself, and was quick marched down to the morgue as soon as they arrived. John fell silent as a red-faced Molly met them at the door and left with just a slightly too long glance at John’s face.

“It wasn’t Afghanistan” Sherlock stated as he stood at the desk. “What?!” John looked befuddled. “Listen John, I’m explaining what you're going to give me as a Christmas gift” Sherlock took a deep breath and began again. “It wasn’t Afghanistan it was your phone when you said “Here, use mine”. You’ve kept saying that and kept offering; your medical knowledge, your guidance, your support, and your love and I know what gift I want now John. You.“

John's face glowed red as Sherlock slid gracefully to one knee in the room where they had met, where it had all started. “I see you don’t have a ring on your finger. Please, John Watson use mine, be mine.”

~~a few weeks later~~

“Oh John, you are a wonderful Christmas gift!” Mummy exclaimed as they entered the kitchen, she squeezed a shocked John until his ribs creaked because as standoffish as the brothers were their parents were warm and demonstrative and John loved it.

“Mummy, he’s been injured" Sherlock chided before reclaiming his fiancé from his mother, who beamed at her youngest son. John had healed enough that post case evenings no longer required serenades on his violin but there were so many kinds of music and Sherlock was discovering that he loved the music John made under his fingers even more now that they would be married, it seemed silly that this could make him love every sound that John made even more.

Christmas eve was cheerful and relaxed, Mrs Hudson had also been invited and she'd insisted on helping in the kitchen. The two women had settled on who would do what and chatted as they shared stories, mostly about Sherlock in their respective houses. Daddy was humming the carol they had heard in the shops this morning as Mummy and Hudders cooked, John had settled against his side and Sherlock was content as he leaned his nose into John’s hair smelling the product he’d swiped off Sherlock’s shelf before they'd left.

It was his perfect Christmas and John was his perfect gift for life.


	10. Comfort and Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas dinner at the Holmes parents. It's the first christmas after Eurus and Rosie's first too. Established Johnlock, Parentlock, MultiPOV,

Daddy lay on the couch with Rosie on his chest and thought about the evening thus far, it had been a difficult year for his wayward youngest son and he would forever be grateful for the family Sherlock had found. Sherlock had even brought his family home for Christmas, his stalwart John and their sweet Rosie, and Daddy knew the army made men tough but John Watson was a titan, a lighthouse. Steadfast against the storms that had raged over his life since he met Sherlock and a constant source of light to his tempestuous partner; John had guided Sherlock home time and again, to his family, and to love.

~~~

Mummy had brought out the family albums after the boys had unpacked and they had settled down for tea. She claimed it was mostly for John’s amusement but she knew that Sherlock had been curious since Eurus had been reintroduced and just didn’t know how to ask questions. It was a difficult topic so they were happy to avoid it for a few more hours or at least until after dinner when Mycroft would be present. She felt he had a lot to answer for but knew that her eldest had always tried to handle everything himself even long before he had the government to aid him. So they laughed at childhood photos that John had never seen and Sherlock tried to forget. When Eurus was present in a picture they simply said nothing as it wasn’t time to address that yet so rather laughed at more innocent times instead. 

Mycroft had made himself scarce for the past few months, his mother’s scolding in his office still rang in his ears when the world got too quiet so he had buried himself in his work up until Christmas eve but arrived for Christmas dinner. It was only when he arrived and saw his mother’s face as she observed him that he realised he had not slept a full night or eaten more than toast and soup since that final meeting in his office. Mummy had hugged him close for a few seconds and it had been a wonderful if poignant dinner. Mycroft ate slowly as the food was delicious but he wasn’t sure how his stomach would handle the sudden influx nor was he sure how he would handle what followed. 

They discussed Eurus and it was blessedly brief as everything had already been said so he had simply apologised again for his deception and the misperceived necessity of hiding her away. His condition must have shocked his parents and he hadn’t realised it himself until John was crouched next to his chair taking his blood pressure. Mycroft hadn't even observed him collect the weighty medical kit he worked from but once John was satisfied that he would not have a cardiac event he promised to take more care of himself and to make fewer family decisions unaided in future. They had made strides towards healing mistakes and it was enough to be getting on with.

~~~

Daddy smiled quietly as a tiny snore drifted up from the sleeping baby, he’d fallen instantly in love with Rosie who'd looked at him and laughed her dear heart out. He had no idea what made babies simply like some people at once but he was delighted when John had handed her over with the quiet words “to Grandpa". She had been fascinated with his red bowtie and she had laughed all the more as he showed her the tree's decorations but for now she was asleep on his chest and he would not disturb her for any reason, not even after-dinner sherry and trifle would move him now. 

John had seen Daddy wonder into the sitting room with his sleepy daughter, Rosie had barely been put down the entire evening as father and son had traded her off between them until dinner where she had had her own high chair next to Mummy who had refused John’s offer to feed his own child. Sherlock had teased him that they should have wrapped Rosie as a Christmas gift because his parents would not return her so John had promptly silenced him with a kiss which seemed to have pleased everyone else at the table too.

~~~

Daddy remembered the grateful smile John had given him, John's face had shone as he and Sherlock did the washing up in a perfectly choreographed dance and John had given a small nod of thanks as Daddy took Rosie to the lounge for a nap but Daddy was the grateful one, a granddaughter, what a comfort and a joy! 


	11. Gingerbread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mini break before the festive season chaos.   
> Parentlock, MultiPOV

They had decided to get away for a bit before the Christmas madness kicked in to enjoy some quiet before the festive season. John had taken quite well to skiing and he was pleased as he had been worried Sherlock would tire of his learning pace so he had taken a few early morning lessons while the madmen slept in for a change.

Sherlock of course looked amazing on skis, all those long lines graceful as he cut through the snow with fresh powder in his hair and if following that lithe figure down the slopes had motivated John to work extra hard at his lessons he considered himself well rewarded over the last week. It was their last day and they were mostly packed already so they had gone for a few quick trips before they left.

They hopped off the ski lift and John gazed down the slopes, taking in the view with a chuckle. “What amuses you so my John" Sherlock pressed to his side and John leaned into him, the cold weather had made them both more affectionate and John had loved the constant warmth at his side. “Gingerbread!” John responded grinning mischievously before pushing off and leaving Sherlock to his deductions. Sherlock tracked John’s swift figure indulging in the view of the man in motion before checking where he had been looking. Yes John gingerbread he smiled to himself at his romantic John. The chalets were iced with snow, covered in white.

Various points of red dotted whiteness, and sudden cracks formed on the smooth white surface as Rosie haphazardly placed Smarties on the roof, Mrs Hudson had decided the boys needed a gingerbread house for Christmas and had been hard at the rather messy work of baking and decorating with a very enthusiastic Rosie assisting. “Your fathers will be home soon dearie, let’s get you cleaned up. Bath time” Rosie had hopped off the stool and raced giggling to the bathroom. It had been a wonderful having Rosie with her and she had been glad to give the boys a bit of a break and she quietly hoped that they had not found any crime while they were on their holiday.

Mrs Hudson had thought she would never settle before the boys got home but she drifted off on the couch while she had waited for her dads so John had carried her upstairs as Sherlock followed with their bags and their gingerbread house.


	12. Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a frosty evening Sherlock sets them off on a path.

Sherlock had been in the shower when John got home, he had refused to take any cases today but after Lestrade had gotten John involved he had had to leave 221B and track down a thief. The thief was in fact an illegitimate child of the panicked politician, who had arrogantly demanded Sherlock assist in the recovery of stolen heirlooms, so he'd been given the special rate that John had devised for difficult clients. It added 40% to their bill.

Sherlock watched the diamond tie pin twinkle on his chest, he remembered having to thank some dull client who had given it to him, god he would do anything for John Watson... but was it too much? Would it give the game away? Sherlock needed tonight to be perfect, just like his perfect gift, John, so this needed to go as flawlessly as John had in saving him. The pin was just a little frosting as John had described it when he had tried to get Sherlock to wear it one date night. John had stolen the phrase from the insipid movie they had watched before leaving for dinner, but John had also been threading those wonderful surgeons fingers through his curls all evening, it hadn't been that bad. However Sherlock decided the frost was too much so dropping the pin into the draw he pulled off his tie as well; no tie, no frost, just Sherlock.

He settled in the kitchen to pretend to work on his blog post that he now chuckled over, it discussed how frost and snow preserved and also destroyed evidence. John had kissed him once he got out of the shower and nuzzled into his neck, Sherlock knew that John loved the scent of his shampoo and was now buying the French product online as it was no longer stocked in London shops. He had already deduced that John was tired from work and knew he couldn’t wait for too long or John would go to bed.

“Jawn! Jaaawn!” He bellowed from the table and John dashed into the kitchen at once. Sherlock observed: a bit _anxious_ , _hyper-focused_ , not seeing _every_ detail, _unsuspecting_. Perfect! He hurried John out the door as he wanted to get this done as soon as possible before his nerves could stop him.

Frost crunched under their feet as they caught a taxi to Bart’s. Two perfectly paced sets of foot prints left the front door of 221 Baker street and Sherlock filed the image in the palace, The Path to Engagement, should he add a new wing for fiancé memories? The crisp sound seemed to have followed them from 221B and trailed behind them as they entered the hospital, still following the path. Tonight would be perfect and Sherlock found that he quite liked a little frost.


	13. A Beautiful Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (With apologies for the delays, burned through the home Wi-Fi at an alarming rate this month)  
> A prequel to Mrs Hudson's story Memories from her boys POV. Established Johnlock as they set up for Christmas drinkies.

It had been a few months since John had taken that walk through that park and met the madman that he would eventually call his. He had moved in with just his army duffle and had only found out weeks later that Sherlock himself had hastily furnished the upstairs room in one afternoon.

Mrs Hudson had enlightened John over tea of how Sherlock had flown through the door after they had met, texting shops frantically and rambled to her about John; his joint military and medical skills, his unfortunate circumstances, she also hinted that his blonde hair, broad shoulders and surgeon's hands had been mentioned, liberally.

Now that they where settled the upstairs was the most tastefully decorated guestroom John had ever owned and they were decorating 221B as it their first Christmas eve so they had invited a few friends over.

John watched Sherlock as he strung lights over the fire place and smiled, Sherlock had been a proper Grinch at first but eventually agreed to help. The low fire threw him into silhouette as a long lean figure against the flames.

Sherlock had grown more enthused when Mrs Hudson had brought up her boxes of Christmas decorations, family heirlooms mixed in with cheaper pieces and John’s heart had skipped as he watched Sherlock happily deduce which were rare and which store bought; also how old the heirlooms were and where they should go on the tree. It had been a beautiful sight, those dark curls next to Mrs Hudson's grey head, long fingers delicately handling each precious baubles.

John grinned as he shifted back to his duties in the kitchen and sighed to himself over how he could be so lucky.

Sherlock sighed to himself, John had been watching him decorate the fire place and the flames had glowed in his silver blonde hair and John had definitely been watching him or he would have observed his own slightly sappy expression in the mirror.

Sherlock watched as John left the kitchen doorway, he'd had taken to his kitchen duties like a soldier on a mission, sliced and diced like the surgeon he was, explaining that the army had taught him how to cook just fine and glowed from the heat as he worked.

Sherlock had watched John’s face grow red and his hairline grow damp but nothing compared, in Sherlock’s opinion, to the laser focus in those blue eyes. It was a beautiful sight to see that disciplined look brought forth for something as simple as a meal, he saw that look in the middle of gunfire and swift fist fights but glowed himself to see it over an evening with friends.


	14. Toy Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Establish Johnlock, Parentlock, teenRosie, ballet, Sherlock POV, a bit of JohnPOV.  
> Sherlock takes Rose to the Nutcracker, fondly remembers the one time he took John and considers how much Rose has grown up. John contemplates his geniuses.

Sherlock sat in the theatre and smiled as he remembered bringing John here a few years ago during their second Christmas as a couple. He had arranged the tickets for his parents whilst they visited but some line dancing friends had called unexpectedly to explain they would be in the area for Christmas so his folks had rescheduled the entire holiday within a week. 

It had been pure self-indulgence as he had watched The Nutcracker seeing the toy soldier on stage with his own far superior soldier beside him and John had been tolerate of the occasion, the tuxedo, the heat in the theatre, and Sherlock’s mad grin but when Clara and the soldier had started their pas de deux he had leaned over and informed Sherlock that he would never wear tights whilst alive. 

John had kept that word but if a smart red blazer had appeared in his wardrobe a few weeks later he'd said nothing to Sherlock and simply pulled it on with a cream shirt and gold tie for the New Years Gala they had had to attend. 

Now Sherlock sat in the theatre and his companion didn’t huff politely at the required attire because Rose did not wear a tuxedo but was dressed age-appropriately, in a simple evening gown. She had happily accepted Sherlock’s carefully written invitation to join him which had been beside her plate at dinner. 

She loved his eccentricities possibly more than John did and now as a teenager shared no small amount of her Papa’s quirks herself so when John had brought up the dress code with a smirk Rose had been thrilled, flinging her arms around Sherlock when he explained he had commissioned a gown for her. 

Now a different Watson leaned over his arm during the pas de deux to whisper in his ear. “Papa, do you think Daddy had a red coat?" She grinned at him as her pale gold gown glowed like her blonde curls, all lit by the low theatre lights. Sherlock smiled at the memory of that red blazer, it had eventually been consigned to the disguises wardrobe after one too many accidents. “Just not the tights" He responded and they had giggled quietly until someone shushed them. 

The now teenage Rosie, or rather “just Rose please” was proving to be as delightful and challenging as she had been in her younger years. Sherlock suddenly found himself being the one raising the issues of food and sleep as Rosie was attentive to her studies but seemed to have absorbed Sherlock’s own habit of hyper-focus. John teased him endlessly about his fussing while John himself employed his own Sherlock-proven method of leaving snacks in the general area and knowing that they would be consumed eventually. 

Her sleeping patterns, or rather lack of sleep pattern John blamed entirely on Sherlock’s influence and was a point he raised whenever he found the two of them pouring over one of Sherlock’s reference books at some terrible time of the night. 

Sherlock felt so fortunate to have his beautiful daughter, a princess, on his arm and he smiled as they went home to their soldier. Rose was leaving for Uni in about two years and Sherlock wanted to fill the remaining time with as much love as he could so there would be other ballets, galleries, and more of the late night brain storming John so objected to. Rose was sociable, bright, and they were aiming for Eton but she had also insisted that they applied to the University of Manchester like her Papa. 

John had been quietly relieved that she showed no interest in the army and was more than happy to find his medical textbooks had been located and added to the pile in the lounge. He was glad that she had taken to cultural activities with Sherlock as it gave them time together and gave him peace and quiet while they were out. 

He loved his geniuses with all his heart though after Sherlock began doing Rose's science labs over again in the kitchen for her, he learned to value the quiet when it was available. 


	15. Seasons Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas at the Holmes parents. Parentlock, sequel to Snow.

They were finally going back to the Holmes parents for Christmas, after their first visits disaster with Mary pregnant and Sherlock committing murder they had hunkered down over the last few years but Rosie was more than old enough now to spend Christmas away from home and they were ready to do so as well. 

John and Sherlock grinned at each other when they arrived at the Holmes parents residence to be greeted by a large snow unicorn, obviously a twin to the one Mycroft had made for Rosie a few weeks ago. Mycroft himself was not to be found as they exchanged the seasons greetings with the Holmes parents who explained that he had spent a few afternoons with them the previous week as he knew he would be delayed on Christmas day. 

Rosie looked less than pleased by Uncle Myc's absence which had worried the adults but a wonderland of snow sculptures in the back garden distracted her before a sulk could set in. “She sulks like Sherlock, all huffs and silent glares" John was chatting with Daddy as they watched Rosie play. “Far preferable to screaming tantrums of course and we're teaching her to talk about things... worked on Sherlock” John gave a contented sigh. “This is quite a marvel really, I would never have suspected Mycroft of all this" 

“He actually had additional snow delivered a few days ago and he was at it for hours, Mummy had to call him indoors.” Daddy grinned at the memory of his reticent eldest son fussing in the snow over the surprise for his niece. “He used to build them for Sherlock when he came home from Uni, possibly as an apology for being gone, but there was always an explanation of the character involved too, Sherlock was always a curious child and Mycroft indulged him endlessly" 

They eventually gathered in the kitchen where Mummy and Sherlock had the rule of things like they had planned a battle, a war campaign. “Mummy insisted we both know how to cook decent meals” Sherlock smiled a little sheepishly at John’s incredulous look. “You’re not getting out of it now" John quipped but he followed orders like a good soldier while Rosie and Daddy nibbled on everything happily. 

The front door banged and “Uncle Myc!” Rosie bolted through the house. “Seasons Greetings Rosamund” Mycroft lifted her into his arms. “Seasons Greetings Uncle Mycroft" she replied in his formality “Thank you for the snowmen, again” She cuddled against Mycroft’s cold chest as he carried her to the kitchen to greet his parents, and exchange greetings with Rosie's parents too before he carried her outside to explain what each figure was. 

Mycroft was carrying Rosie at the drinks counter as he spoke softly of the various Greek myths he had scattered through his parents garden when Mummy mock scolded him from the doorway “She's got legs Mycie, and they work". Mycroft had looked a bit surprised to still be holding Rosie who clung to him a bit more tightly. She has never had so much of Mycroft’s time to herself and was fascinated by the stories of each sculpture. 

“Uncle Myc is telling me about the Hydra monster" She had reasoned and Mycroft grinned, Mummy had sighed, and John chuckled because he knew that Mycroft barely saw Rosie but she always brought out his softer side. John could clearly see the indulgent big brother who, no doubt, had spoiled little Sherlock at Christmas too so he would not deny them a few hours in each others company even if it meant that he would have to deal with islands of pillows in the lounge and his jumpers becoming sea monsters that needed slaying. 

He felt a long hand rest on his waist and leaned back into Sherlock's warm side. That blue dressing gown of Sherlock’s was being worn to death and would make a nice ocean; John sighed contentedly as soft lips mudsed his hair at the crown, yes, this visit was long overdue for the whole family. 


	16. Warm and Cozy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Parentlock. John is annoyed after Sherlock falls into the Thames. Mrs Hudson is her wonderful self and Rosie sleeps. (I wrote this instead of sleeping so please advise of errors, I can't even proof read atm)

They had just got in from a case and John was pissed off! Every time he closed his eyes, even so much as blinked, he saw long limbs flail through space. He had had to watch Sherlock fall again. He had watched Sherlock fall off a bridge into the Thames and frantically searched with half the Yarders as old grief and old anger strangled him until a heavy coughing showed them the way, the relief of fishing a cursing detective out of the frigid water had done little to ease his temper but the time in the ambulance where they got Sherlock checked out and gave a quick statement had been enough time for Sherlock to start to shiver, which changed John’s focus a bit by the time they got home.

“Clothes off!” John ordered as they got into the flat, nudging an amorously smiling Sherlock towards the bathroom, John was in no mood for post case indulgence. “And don’t grin at me like that, clothes off and into the bath with you! You’re the genius, you know what to do" John strode off into the kitchen over Sherlock's indignant squawk of “But you’re my doctor John!” to set up some tea things then evaded damp arms that tried to snag him on his way to pop down stairs to Mrs Hudson as she had collected Rosie from day care while they worked.

John knocked quietly as he knew that Rosie would be asleep already. Mrs Hudson took in his grim look and pulled him into her kitchen for tea, explaining Rosie was sleeping and that she could clearly see something was wrong. “Himself just took a swim in the river this evening, it’s the middle of December... I’ll put Rosie right back to bed, thank you for fetching her" John met two concerned eyes as he raised his own from his cup of tea, she loved Sherlock like a son and he knew she was no housekeeper but more of a mother to them both and a de facto grandmother to their Rosie. “He'll be okay Mrs H, sent him to have a hot bath and he's a genius, he knows what to do.” She had responded with quiet words he had heard before “But you’re his doctor John” and a knowing smile that he had seen before too. He nodded, kissed her cheek and collected Rosie from her camping cot to carefully carry her upstairs.

“Don’t you look warm and cosy” He was relieved to see Sherlock dry, dressed, and drinking his tea with no further arguments, they would normally have taken advantage of their child free time but getting Sherlock home safe, Sherlock safe, had been his only priority as soon as they got out of the car at Baker street. John observed Sherlock grin at the child in his arms “Very warm and perfectly cosy John but the situation could be improved” John rolled his eyes as his partner's long arms reached demandingly for the sleeping toddler. “Okay, just don’t stay up observing all night, you need to rest properly” But he was wasting his breath and he knew it, Rosie watching was one of Sherlock's favourite ways to relax, he would stay up all night relaxing and then ramble to John over breakfast about how many of her REM cycles he had been able to observe. She was apparently talking or at least babbling in her sleep as well.

Sherlock smiled as he lay the warm bundle of his daughter onto his chest, he was definitely warmer and cosier now. John leaned in and kissed Rosie, then himself good night and a warming glow settled into Sherlock's heart. John fussed too much he decided as Sherlock knew he had a perfectly competent doctor often within arms reach! So as Rosie slowly fell back to sleep he lay a hand over her back and followed the flutter of her precious heart.


	17. Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Met's New Year's Eve party at New Scotland Yard. The Homles brother's are in attendance. Pending Mystrade. Established Johnlock.

Greg was Drunk! He would never deny it, he was delightedly plastered and while it was mostly nerves it was also the New Scotland Yard New Year's Eve celebration and he was having a great evening. Myc sat in the seat next to him looking perfectly tailored as usual and politely refusing shop talk from higher ups Greg barely recognised. Who was this man?! Greg watched Myc turn yet another Met official away red-faced, apparently the new year was not the time for budget discussions. The man gave Greg’s grin a glare and was about to say something before Myc cleared his throat and the chap cleared off. Greg could get used to this as he leaned back with a smile.

John had been chatting to a few paramedics who were eager to hear about field medicine in the army and quite willing to keep himself and Sherlock in drinks to do so, he was having a great time. Maybe it was the booze or the clear admiration but he was able to discuss things freely and explain details without the usual twisted feeling in his guts. He had been concerned at first that Mycroft would interfere with Sherlock’s enjoying the party by making some comment or inference but the brother’s had had one of their usual Holmesian telepathic conversation and gone about their separate business. John was glad to be off peacekeeping duties for once and settled down to enjoy the party with Sherlock by his side quietly observing the revellers like he did at every gathering they'd ever attended. Sherlock would share his deductions this evening if they stayed awake or tomorrow morning over brunch.

Mycroft observed Sherlock observing him and felt his insides freeze but a quick glance cast at Gregory confirmed that he had not noticed Sherlock’s attentions; was slowly getting more drunk, and far too busy blatantly enjoying Mycroft's deflecting Met Officials all evening to notice much at all. He had already confirmed that Gregory had not indulged in male companionship since University and a brief affair at the Met Academy, but if Sherlock put ham-handed pressure on the situation it would surely crumble to disastrous consequences. He was attending the Met’s New Year's celebration as a minor government employee but mostly as a part of the Sherlock Wrangling Team… John Watson had a way with words. It was a vital team though and Mycroft had let Sherlock see his worry, that one wrong move could cause disaster.

Sherlock observed his brother sitting next to Lestrade and being so wound up in his own head that he was missing the odd glances being levelled in his direction. Every time some simpering Met official approached and was rebuffed Lestrade's sharp cut grey head would swivel in his brother’s direction with a drunken expression of delight. Poor Mycroft was being so oblivious that Sherlock had to wonder if it was a family trait and he got lost in memories of his own obviousness before John squeezed his hand and pressed some more cold punch into his grasp. Sherlock smiled at his amazing partner, John held an impressive court of medical staff; emergency techs and officers, which had put a flush in his face and some sparkle into his beautiful blue eyes, so Sherlock was content to be by his side and observe as his brother’s little drama unfolded. Mycroft met his eyes suddenly, flashing him a look of anxiety so clear he may as well have just hired a sky writer.

Sherlock simply raised an eyebrow and dropped his chin in acknowledgment of the situation. He would never interfere with what should, by his estimation, be a very happy and convenient arrangement. His two most tiresome handlers would keep each other occupied and his brother would be happy which was something worth celebrating. If the situation also proved Mycroft's rejection of sentiment entirely incorrect well, let the celebrations continue. He raised a small toast to his sibling’s endeavours and got on with his own, very easy, role of doting partner.


	18. Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An urgent job for Mycroft bring endless amusement to Sherlock, shakes John up a bit, and brings on a silent night.

They had been summoned in the dead of night by a very serious sounding minion of Mycroft's. When they arrived at the Diogenes club they were invited to help themselves from a truly insane breakfast buffet that stretched along three side boards, clearly catering for a few different time zones, and promptly abandoned in a meeting room with their meals and a large carafe of admittedly delicious coffee.

“Well something’s up, do you think your brother started another war? I barely survived the last one" John sounded glib but he wasn’t fooling Sherlock, a pre-dawn wake up meant bad things but they had both learned that by now. “Do stop worrying and eat some breakfast John, get me more bacon.” Sherlock refused to worry about what had happened, no point as Mycroft would no doubt tell them after a suitably dramatic wait and he was in no mood to suffer twice.

....

“Oh it's Christmas!” Sherlock crowed as they raced through the warehouse that was supposed to be their third stop. Mycroft had given then ridiculously complicated instructions which Sherlock had folded into equally complicated paper planes in the taxi. “Yes Sherlock we know" John sounded winded but kept up as always “It is Christmas and you've been saying that since this agent went rogue, stop enjoying your brother’s mistake and figure out where he’s going!” Sherlock had been crowing since they had left on their mission well after dawn... and a second breakfast for John. John, his conductor of light! John’s words triggered sparks in Sherlock mind, he suddenly knew where they were all going and it wasn’t good. “Duck!” He yelled as they entered a small storage area and a grenade flew through the air. A trap, the traitor had been heading into the trap he had set for John and Sherlock. The world went White.

John woke shaking on the ground, reminding himself viciously that he had not been shot, he was not in the desert, he was in fact in London and surprisingly uninjured. He groaned as his head pounded all the way up till he stood. “It Was A Concussion Grenade!” John’s voice carried through the ground floor as he turned in a slow circle looking for his Sherlock. The lunatic had to be here somewhere and he had to be unharmed, nothing had happened to John so nothing could have happened to Sherlock!

Mycroft’s team finally had their defector so they simply followed the noise of two men who couldn’t hear themselves speak. “Its Just A Concussion Grenade John!” The base in Sherlock’s voice carried further than John clear tenor so at least they were okay-ish. Sherlock had been holding on to John when they found them, or had John been clinging to Sherlock. It was impossible to figure out with those two. Mycroft gave instruction for them to be checked out but John eventually overrode the medics and rather demanded a lift home.

Back home they wrote a note to a concerned Mrs Hudson who wrote back that she would see to their supper, just this once. They had a few scrapes and bruises, Sherlock's face would be a sunset of blue and purple by tomorrow. The meal was excellent so they tucked in and then settled down to a silent night. It was strangely restful; the cold evening and the warm fire along with full bellies helped them unwind from the day. Their normal celebratory activities had been rules too risky after the blast and usually Sherlock would play if they were injured but he wasn’t in the mood for music he couldn’t hear so Sherlock quickly filed the day's events in his mind palace, placing his brother’s spectacular cock-up on an ornate pedestal, then settling down to one of his favourite activities. Observing John while unobserved.

John drafted a blog post with half an eye on Sherlock, clearly out of his mind palace and now staring. John slogged though the draft and when his hunt and peck typing stopped he huffed a visible sigh and set the laptop against his chair. Extending a hand to his partner he mouth a clear “You've been staring" and grinned as Sherlock's ears burned at having been caught out then “bath time" silently followed. He had narrowly avoided a flash back after the grenade went off and needed some time with Sherlock wrapped around him before he was okay again.

John towed Sherlock to the bathroom and started the shower, at least in here they didn’t need words as they languidly scrubbed each other in the hot water. John patched a few scrapes they hadn’t bothered Mycroft's medics with and issued a round of painkillers to them both. They dropped off to sleep easily after John got comfortable with his personal bed-octopus. Maybe there was something to be said for a silent night, John smiled and let the meds and his lover's steady breathing send him off to sleep.


	19. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MycroftPOV, Mycroft spends one night at his parents home each year, Christmas night.

The gifts had all been opened and everyone was sure they couldn’t eat another bite so once drinks were done with everyone had gone off to bed.

Mycroft settled into bed, it was his old bed in his parent's place as Mummy still maintained his room but had the good grace to only point this out over the holidays. He had purchased his London apartment to use during the week while fully intending to spend weekends at home after Mummy had ferociously extracted promises of visits. But the work grew more complicated as his career had advanced and the work mattered so weekends at home became every fortnight, then once a month or maybe twice a quarter until it was just this one night that he slept in his old room each year. Mummy had insisted that all cell phones be left in the study and he didn’t have work tomorrow as he always attended the Boxing day picnic with his parents, well for his parents.

He drove them to the event himself in his father's old Honda and while he could just call a driver his parents stayed prohibitively far from London and he preferred to not have his employees buzzing around his family, Sherlock being the perpetual exception of course. He stayed while his parents chatted to aunts, cousins, and sundry hangers on he could never remember, he could barely keep up with their unceasing breeding.

Mycroft didn’t really enjoy the Boxing day event as he fielded impertinent questions about his personal life and tedious questions about his brother’s health but it made his parents happy. It also ensured that he had one day in the year when he just had to worry about his own family and not all of England. He still worried of course; about which elderly relatives were showing signs of dementia, cousins clearly being abused or having developed eating disorders. He gave Mummy a report every year in mid January as it gave everyone time to forget that that odd Mycroft Holmes had been in attendance and for her to get the family's assistance to those who needed it timeously.

He treasured his time at home and his jealous guardianship of this time was so well known in his frequent circles that requests for meetings had ceased entirely for the last week and any invitations that had been sent always seemed to have been placed in error. _Need not concern yourself Mr Homles the relevant person has been spoken to_. It would seem even the insular world of international politics understood the sacrosanctity of time spent at home.


	20. Hopes & Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers met to hold discourse upon the events of the Met's New Year's Eve party (see chapter: Celebration) aka Sherlock swans into his brothers office to give him the third degree... ak-aka Sherlock gives Mycroft a pick in the pants.

Mycroft sat in his office glaring mildly at his little brother. “So you have not said anything to the Detective Inspector?” It sounded like accusation, which he had not intended but when Sherlock had shown up at his office he had expected to hear extravagant tales of his folly and Gregory's alarm “You’ve not said anything either!” Sherlock had retorted always on the defensive but his next words brought Mycroft up short. “Scared BrotherDear or hopeful?” Sherlock almost leered from his spot between the chairs, he never sat down in his brother’s office.

“Hopes and fears, tis the season I suppose" Mycroft stopped himself from fidgeting with items on his desk, it would give too much away of how badly he wanted this to work. Shockingly Sherlock's eyes softened at his brother’s rare display of nerves. “Was the season Mycroft, tis was the season. It’s now the season of new things, more hopes than fears… and silly people going to the gym for the next six months.” Sherlock tried to sound casual and unwind some of the tension in the air but he knew what he had seen at the New Scotland Yard New Years eve party, he knew what this could mean for his isolated big brother.

“Have you considered all the potential repercussions" Mycroft tried to affect Sherlock’s casual tone but failed spectacularly, Sherlock looked so hopeful. Redbeard, Mycroft’s brain chanted to him, Redbeard Redbeard Redbeard. If this might harm his little brother in any way Mycroft knew that he would walk away from Gregory at once! “If it all falls apart it could affect your own relationship with Gregory, it could affect the work" He knew his eyes leaked his anxiety but he refused to close them, he was worried for more than just himself and Sherlock had to understand.

“Gregory?!” Sherlock perked up at the use of first names but subsided as big brother raised a quelling eyebrow, the look every older sibling learns must be a universal constant it says: Stop it at once or face dire consequences, quite succinctly. “I'm sure Lestrade wouldn’t let it put cases at risk and if it fails it simply proves you right, caring was not an advantage. But Mycroft what if it succeeds, a goldfish of your own?” Sherlock mocked his diction of the word but the concern in his eyes was apparent.

“Gregory Lestrade is a competent investigator and an intelligent man, not entirely a goldfish Sherlock” Mycroft edged out through gritted teeth, he was starting to find Sherlock’s interest in this person matter tiresome, but his brother was in a happy relationship and had been with the good doctor Watson for quite some time now. John Watson was a rare man and Mycroft could only hope that he had found another, the DI and the Doctor got on well enough to suggest it.

“It’ll definitely fail" Sherlock’s bluntness set his brother’s heart racing and Mycroft realised he was gaping like a goldfish himself as his brother continued. “If you refuse to act" He finished smuggly as the redness faded from his brother’s outraged face. “Hope or fear Mycroft if you don’t try you’ve already failed"

“You sound like Father” Mycroft called as he watched his little brother sweep out of the room, that coat really did have far too much drama. He was loathed to concede that his brother and by extension his father had a point so he made sure his tasks were up to date for the day and then he took a deep breath, picked up his phone and dialled the number on a rumpled business card, it had been in his pocket for far too long.

“Mr Holmes?” The questioning tone stunned Mycroft into silence before Gregory continued, “My phone shows this number as A Minor Government Bore but Sherlock’s been at it so I can never know. Mycroft Holmes, isn’t it?” Mycroft was gaping again but pulled himself together as he cursed his little brother.

“Yes, it’s Mycroft, please call me Mycroft and one can never tell with Sherlock, yes" Mycroft smiled at the requisition order he had just approved. “Well, Greg then please Mycroft. What can I do for you? Is Sherlock okay?” Mycroft’s heart lightened at the concern is Gregory's voice, this man genuinely cared about his irrepressible sibling. “Sherlock is fine. Dinner, I mean I was wondering if you might join me for dinner some time this week?”

Greg looked up at John who sat across from his desk. John had received a text from Sherlock saying he was leaving Mycroft’s office and blue eyes sparkled as he studied Greg’s red face. “Dinner. Dinner, yes sounds great… Saturday" Greg read John’s hasty scribble as he held it up. “You can send a car that’ll be lovely, I’ll see you then" Greg put the phone down and exhaled slowly as John clapped him on the back. “You’re in there mate" then, mission accomplished John turned to give his friend some privacy to recover.

“Not so fast Watson!” The panicked words raced him to the door. “A Holmes John I've a date with a Holmes! What do I do?!” John laughed quietly. “Shine your shoes and shave your face" He quipped with a shrug before closing the door behind him.


	21. Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Warning for potentiall disturbing themes; kinda canabilism) A horrific nightmare wakes Mycroft at his parent's place.(The sequel of the chapter Home and a prequel to Celebration)

The evening had been wonderful, the meal delicious and knowing he would just have his own family to worry about the next day would have raised Mycroft Holmes to Nirvana but he knew such things didn’t exist. He had gone to bed supremely content but woke in a cold sweat.

The festive feast was the only thing he could think of, the sudden intake of far too much of Mummy's excellent cooking must have caused his always bizarre dreams to latch on to his anxiety regarding Gregory and his envy of Sherlock to such am outlandish result. It had been a feast of cupcakes, rows upon rows of them stood on long elegant tables with various gateau and multi-layered confectionary. Mycroft had wondered through the sugary landscape but frozen at the sight of Sherlock as he had never imagined him, excessively corpulent and wheedling a large knife.

John sat next to him smiling blandly and missing his left arm, shoulder, and a goodly portion of his chest. Mycroft almost fainted as John’s head rolled slightly against the chair, the doctor's body had been comprised entirely of living cake! A slice of oatmeal iced cake sat on his brother’s plate, the cable knit clear on the frosting’s surface and icing smeared his brother's face, hands, and his suit. The suit was tailored to his fleshy dimensions but the cloth was filthy with icing and crumbs.

“He's just ate my heart" John stated cheerfully and Mycroft was nearly sick. “But there’s plenty to go around" John gestured with his remaining hand which Sherlock had promptly broken off and laid beside the slice of John Watson he had already carved put of the doctor's abdomen.

“Everywhere else Brothermine.” Sherlock’s voice was shockingly cold, there was no inflection present as he cut up his lover. “There’s plenty everywhere else. You know a Holmes doesn’t share and we will obviously destroy what we want to love" Sherlock stuffed a few delicate fingers into his mouth before speaking around half chewed cake and falling crumbs. “Caring is not an advantage, and you must of course have all of him" A pallid hand waved to something behind Mycroft and he could barely make himself turn around, it all seems so real! He could smell the sugar in the frosting and the almond from the various marzipan flowers.

Mycroft’s heart had sunk into his bowels as a Cake-Gregory approached through the rows of sweets carrying a large knife, his knees nearly gave out as DI Lestrade stood in front of him smelling exactly like his mother’s vanilla sponge cream cake, down to his favourite, the raspberry filling. “I know you want my heart" Gregory had said smiling before he plunged the wicked knife into Mycroft's chest.

Mycroft shuddered at the memory and flung off the bed clothes, a brisk shower and a good book. It was much too early to be about the house so there was no hope of hot tea but there was no reason to stay in an empty bed. He eased himself to his feet as he was not sure if he could trust his legs after they’d almost failed in his dream.

Mycroft settled into the shower hoping the old water pipes didn’t disturb anyone. He would see Gregory over new years at some Met event and would observe the potential then but until that time he would be calm and proceed as normal. He’d hoped for more then his usual five hours sleep but that was clearly not an option so he would make the best of this day with his parents.


	22. Nightmare Before Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mummy's food prep gains a surprise helper, and another one too.

The Christmas eve festivities had wound down slowly and Mummy was up late preparing food for the next day, she preferred to do the prep work the night before as it gave her more time with the family on Christmas day itself and Rose had joined them this year at last having spent the last few years with Uni mates on a bit of a rebellious streak.

These last few years at Uni had been a growing experience for her, after the turbulence of her infancy John could be forgiven for coddling her but Mummy had been concerned for her socialization as neither of her parents were social butterflies but Rose had shown some spunk, diving into activities and a few social clubs. The tattoo had been a bit much in Mummy's opinion but Papa had named a newly discovered bacteria after his daughter so what could Mummy say.

Mummy dashed about the kitchen quite glad everyone else was asleep, Sherlock picked away at everything when he was in the kitchen and John had quickly joined in, like starlings the two of them. Food prep was always her biggest nightmare before Christmas but this year would be so worth the hassle with Rose back again, she had grown to John's height over the last few years but had a delicacy about her features that was entirely her mother's. Her attitude was something Sherlock claimed was completely John’s but John blamed Sherlock, how she'd missed her... Rose!

Rose stood at the counter quietly slicing carrots on the diagonal as Dad had shown her years ago, she knew there was always a nightmare of food prep after the family Christmas eve and she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight so she had slipped into the kitchen and gotten started, feeling strangely triumphant as sneaking in unnoticed as her fathers had always known, hopefully if she was already working she wouldn’t be sent back to bed.

“My sweet briar Rose you should be in bed" Mummy said quietly stilling the blade in her hand “I can handle this please rest" Rose set the knife down and turned to smile “Grandma you’ve not called me that for years, not since you and Grandpa kept me over Dad and Papa's tenth anniversary. Don’t worry, please I want to help. I can’t sleep anyway so please let me chop a few things and I’ll sleep for a hundred years like a proper briar Rose.” She gave her grandma the disarming smile she'd learned from Papa by the time she was nine.

Mummy hugged her sweet grandchild tightly. “Of course my darling, your Papa never slept well either but he was never so helpful my dear. Finish up the carrots since you're doing such a lovely job then dice the onions and chop the potatoes and I’ll tell you about a real little nightmare before Christmas”

Sherlock stirred as a noise woke him, laughter drifted quietly down the passage. Two voices, Female... his mum and... Rosie must be helping with Christmas day prep. Mummy always used to chase him out because he would nibble on everything. He eased out of bed but John rolled and gave an undignified snort. “Go back to sleep John" John answered him by stealing his pillow for a cuddle and Sherlock smiled, clearly he was getting up early today.

“A man-trap for Santa!” Lead to stifled giggles “Dug up half my perennials to do it" His mother and his daughter were leaning over some carrots and Sherlock recognised John’s whimsical diagonal cut to the vegetables. He slipped down the work table and snagged a small chefs knife before liberating the onions from Rose's neglected pile. He used their chatter as cover to peel the bulbs and set about dicing until the smell caught them.

“Oh Sherlock!” ”Papa! Oh you are a nightmare." Sherlock chuckled. “That trap would have worked had Mycroft not ratted me out" Mummy recovered to throw a look at her youngest son. “You'd have killed the gardener more like, and since when could you dice anything correctly? The mess you used to make.” Sherlock grinned at the memory of John's patience, and them passing Rosie back and forth when she wasn’t in the mood to be put down.

“John taught me, when Rose was born. I hated the processed baby food in the markets and John told me to stop fussing or cook it myself. I said I would and he taught me.” Sherlock scraped perfectly diced onion into a pan and snagged a few potatoes to start chopping into wedges, all he needed was... a glass of wine was settled next him and the newly appointed Kitchen crew shared a quick toast.

“To Family" Mummy said quietly before her sip and the work was done in time for everyone to be sleeping when Santa arrived.


	23. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mummy observes the boys as they make Christmas dinner. (I'm not a major Rosie fan so I wanted the last chapter to just be about John and Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this only makes 23 as the prose style of "Do You See What I See" didn't lend itself to extension. I will however be extending both bonus chapters into one large chapter 24.

The Christmas drinkies was in danger of becoming a regular event and Sherlock was in fine form sulking all the way out of London. “You can share me with our friends for one evening of the year Love, won’t be too much" John had insisted they accept Mycroft’s offer of a car and driver as he was just too tired to drive or to wrangle his recalcitrant partner out of his sulk but fortunately by the time they got to the cottage Sherlock had gone from surly and tired to just plain exhausted.

Mummy had greeted them at the door and gently guided her sons into the lounge. Her boys needed sleep but she could never send empty bellies to bed. “Grandmere's pea soup!” Sherlock brightened at the meal, he had loved her mother’s recipe even as a fussy child. She watched them eat the light meal. John soaking crisp bread in the thick soup as Sherlock slurped it smiling from the bowl between bites of bread and butter, then bellies warm, Sherlock gave her a sleepy “Merci Maman, Bonne nuit” and the boys grabbed their bags and went to bed.

Everyone woke late the next morning and after the season’s greetings and simple gifts John spoke up. “Sherlock and I will do the cooking this evening Mummy. I’ve been teaching him and he’s an amazingly quick study.” He had wanted Sherlock’s parents to really see how far their son had come, how hard he had worked on looking after himself and changing bad habits. The man himself was pressed up against his back, Sherlock smiled radiantly at John before nodding at his parents.

Mummy was then established at the table to give instructions and her orders were followed with such alacrity she soon felt superfluous in her own kitchen but she didn’t mind as she watched Sherlock and John prepare Christmas dinner. Her son and his partner almost danced around the kitchen and she admired how they looked perfectly choreographed despite the new surroundings as various meats, vegetables, and sauces were stirred, chopped, and roasted in turn.

The two of them looked so happy as they cooked, Sherlock comfortably following John’s easy lead and John doted on Sherlock so avidly that she knew the fraught earlier years of her turbulent youngest son's life would never now be repeated. She could not stop smiling, they just went so beautifully together.

Mummy knew that Sherlock looked after John, she had witnessed Sherlock showering him with praise and affection in a way she had never seen her son behave and she knew as well that John looked after Sherlock, kept him safe and adored him.

She knew that John praised and also scolded Sherlock, she could see that the praise had increased and the scolding lessened as Sherlock had settled into their relationship. Her son had stopped testing John’s boundaries and patience and he had finally learned that John would not abandon him as others had for being peculiar, John liked that he was different and Sherlock had grown to learn that he was safe in John’s heart.

Mummy was having a good Christmas and knew it would be a blessed new year because her son had at last found Peace in the ordinarily extraordinary man named John Watson. So she watched them cook and cooperate for a while before she slipped out of the kitchen and joined her husband in the lounge. He had stopped humming, and sang to her quietly instead as they danced.


	24. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A beginning and ending piece. I wrote this as two bonus chapters at 08:00 and 22:00 on Boxing day. I wanted to hear from John and his thoughts of Christmas with his family.

“Daddy! Daddy! Santa!” Rapid little steps down the hall carried Rosie into the bedroom and onto John’s stomach. He’d been having a lovely lie in for Christmas morning despite the bed being empty of his other half and he had hoped the late Christmas eve with the Baker Street Bunch would keep Rosie in her bed till later than usual but the promise of presents was clearly stronger. He caught the breath that had been knocked out of him, enthusiasm had always added a few pounds to Rosie's landings. “Good morning Sweetheart, has Santa been for you?” He hauled himself out of bed ignoring the aches as his body proclaimed it wasn’t getting any younger and pulling on a dressing gown he followed Rosie down the passage to a kitchen that smelled amazing.

“How long have you been up?” Sherlock was in pyjamas and a dressing gown as he stood at the stove tending to a truly enormous fry up. John snagged coffee before a squeal from Rosie pulled him into the lounge. “Santa woke me when his sleigh hit the roof but he knew that you were sleeping so we kept the noise down" Sherlock’s voice rumbled playfully from the kitchen, he must have been up at the crack of dawn to set everything up and start cooking. John smiled at his wonderful partner as Rosie thumped an overfull stocking into his lap.

“You have one too Daddy! Santa must have decided you were good, even if you and Papa make Nana cross. She said you kept her awake last weekend and that’s not good but Santa must like you and Papa or something" John chuckled and heard Sherlock join in from his post in front of the stove. The Holmes parents had kept Rosie the previous weekend and they had made good use of the time… and should probably take their child's echt grandmother to dinner sometime.

“I explained everything to Santa this morning Rosie” Sherlock assured her as he carried two plates out of the kitchen. She had clearly already eaten as she was wearing the evidence. “Can’t let Daddy get nothing for Christmas can we?” She shook her head mutely as she was far too focused on her small pile of gifts to respond. “Can I open all of this in here Love?” John asked quietly and the devilish grin on his partner's face was all he needed to quietly put the stocking in their bedroom. “You are amazing.” John kissed Sherlock happily. “With her, and the breakfast, and keeping Nana awake, You are amazing" Sherlock grinned as he ate his way steadily though his food. “Oh hold on to that thought tightly John” Was the only response John got before another squeal from Rosie drew his attention.

“Papa, thank you! Daddy, Daddy! A Violin!!” “Sherlock” John’s careful warning tone was clear, it said: You are in so much trouble but I won’t scold you in front of our daughter. “Still holding on John, Rosebud is two years older than I was when I started and I’ll be tutoring her myself. Just hold on okay, I really want her to have this" John unclenched his jaw with a sigh, Sherlock looked terrified almost teary, like he was expecting John to pull this moment away from him at any moment.

Sherlock almost flinched as John lunged towards him but strong arms pulled him in to a tight hug and he felt himself breath again. “I’ll never forgive myself for that moment Love, I was so stupid.” John murmured in his ear having caught the halted reaction and Sherlock knew John could fell his elevated pulse. “The therapy is helping us both" He replied before adding with a grin “And there are noise cancelling headphones in your stocking.” John joined in his chuckle and squeezed a bit tighter “You are Amazing Sherlock"

EVENING – Rosie is already in bed.

John sat contemplating the last 48 hours, it had been a mad rush of Christmas eve and Christmas day, driving, and family, friends, food, way too much food. Sherlock had passed out on the couch as the enforced socializing had taken it’s toll so John left him alone. It had been hectic seeing Harry, their Baker Street gathering, and Sherlock’s family all in two days and John could only agree that Sherlock needed rest, hell he would love to some sleep himself. The usually carefully disarrayed curls were a messy riot on the pillow John had slid under Sherlock’s head but it wasn’t enough to make sure Sherlock actually rested properly.

Sherlock knew his body was asleep but his ears could still hear John shifting as he thought, no doubt about the past few days and how tired he was, so he slowly got to his protesting feet and pulled his protesting John off to bed. None of too early nonsense, he didn’t even bother responding and John wasn’t exactly fighting him as he towed his partner to the bedroom.

Sleep, they both needed sleep but Sherlock needed John to be close right now, not the Baker Street Bunch, certainly not the drunkenly dramatic Harriet, not his fussing cooeing parents, just John. Sherlock only needed the man who had kept him right in the maelstrom of the last few day, and who would do so again as he spooned himself behind John’s warm solid body. Sherlock held tight to the man who saved him and let himself drift off to a proper sleep at last.

John breathed a sigh of relief as Sherlock’s breathing evened out against his back. He had been surprised when Sherlock had suddenly left the couch and towed him to the bedroom, he’d been efficiently stripped by his somnambulant sweetheart, and was now cradled possesively in long sleep warm arms. He had never felt so cherished as he followed his love to sleep at last.


End file.
